Sunday, January 30, 2011

About two weeks ago, I experienced what many psychologists call a "Jason Bourne moment": I was tailed by a secret agent on the subway. She was wearing dark glasses, as secret agents are prone to do, and her hair looked somewhat wig-like - part of some masterful disguise, no doubt. Were it not for my uncanny perceptiveness and constant paranoia, I might not ever have noticed her.

See what I'm talking about? She was a spy, no question about it. But was what could she have been after? She was sitting in front of a poster which demanded, in the strictest of terms, that I DO MY TAXES (online, for free). Was this position strategic? Some kind of cryptic message, possibly even a direct warning? Was she CIA, FBI, KGB? Was she an agent of some shadow accounting firm, trying to threaten me away from free, online competitors? Maybe a plainclothes, for the IRS? Do they do that?

I've never been late on my taxes. Her intimidation meant nothing to me. And as my stop approached, I made my move.

We battled it out in a flurry of Jujitsu and Krav Maga, chopping and kicking in what I can only describe to you now, dear readers, as a Samba of Death. But when the doors opened on 42nd and 8th avenue, our lightning exchange ended in a draw (she was transferring for the Port Authority). Ultimately, I was unable to determine what her dastardly espionage was trying to uncover.

Be warned, my friends: despite my best efforts to subdue her, this woman is still out there, her cold reflective lenses obscuring the soulless pools of deceit that surely lie behind them. If you see her, turn the other way, go home, and make sure you do your taxes.